FIVE SECOND STORIES

Flora & Fauna

Rene formerly Stubbs with a finely grown out second section on his tail. Lookin' good, dude! I think he is living to the West.

Uh oh, DHS has decided to approach MamaChuck. She didn't pay much attention and moved along under the pool deck.

Sadly, one of our little Stampies has died. It perished under our deck and C (bless her heart) retrieved it and I lay it to rest in our critter burial ground.

The hydrangea blooms are entirely pinkish-rose now.

Here's a surprise-a sunflower in Pepperland. Evidently some critter or bird left one of the seeds from the feeder and it germinated!

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Two of Buddy's favorites on his play list:

"Close to You" by The Carpenters

 

 

"I'm a Happy Man" by The Jive Five

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Oddly enough, I had never heard of paw paw fruit before C mentioned a childhood song concerning them.

 

Often called "North America's tropical fruit," as it is the only such fruit indigenous to the continental U.S., pawpaws taste boldly bright, vibrant, and tropical. Imagine a mix of mango, banana, and a hint of tangy passion fruit, and you'll have a close approximation of a pawpaw's unique flavor.  They are in season August-November depending on the site.

 

Why don't we see paw paw fruit in the stores very much? Why don't my neighbors have these fruit trees? Well, the problem is with how it's pollinated: flies or beetles that are attracted to the fetid odor of the blossoms. Some folks place road kill or manure to attract pollinators but these options won't be appreciated by neighbors in a urban/suburban environment. Growers will plant trees/shrubs that bloom around the same time in April as the paw paw such as red bud, American plum and the sweet scarlet goumi.

 

The village of Paw Paw, MI, located between Kalamazoo and South Haven, is named after the fruit by Indigenous people. 

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The aforementioned song C spoke about is "The Paw Paw Patch". This is one of many she remembers from her elementary school days. I don't remember a lot of singing in my grade schools and it makes me wonder if there was a movement in the early 60's to modernize away from the traditional singy-songy teaching. In C's case, the principal at her Ann Arbor school (whom C refers to as a martinet) was very much a traditionalist in many ways, having come and perhaps receiving training in her native Eastern Europe. She had lots of rules but that did not bother C-they were perfectly reasonable to her and happily complied unlike the crazy nonsense her mother came up with. 

 

Fortunately, it wasn't all rules with no rewards. One concerned the library books. When a student began school, they could only read those books on the bottom shelf until staff determined that the kid had advanced enough and be allowed to "graduate" to the next shelf up. For some like C, who loved to excel and be rewarded, plus the double-bonus of a chance of reading new books-this was catnip.

 

Very much a common sense approach that I reckon is used world-wide: you have to work for rewards in this world.

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C is a true watergirl-we were talking about scents that trigger memories-chlorine reminds her of swimming pools.

 

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From 1983- "Swordfishtrombones" by the inimitable Tom Waits. Odd song structure with curious sound rattlings and stream of consciousness lyrics.

 

Well, he came home from the war
With a party in his head
And modified Brougham DeVille
And a pair of legs that opened up like butterfly wings
And a mad dog that wouldn't sit still
He went and took up with a Salvation Army band girl
Who played dirty water on a swordfishtrombone
He went to sleep at the bottom of Tenkiller lake
And he said "gee, but it's great to be home"
Well, he came home from the war with a party in his head
And an idea for a fireworks display
And he knew that he'd be ready with a stainless steel machete
And a half a pint of Ballentine's each day
And he holed up in room above a hardware store
Cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears
He put a spell on some poor little Crutchfield girl
And stayed like that for twenty-seven years
He packed up all his expectations, he lit out for California
With a flyswatter banjo on his knee
With a lucky tiger in his angel hair and Benzedrine for getting there
They found him in a eucalyptus tree
Lieutenant got him a canary bird and skanked her head with every word
Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song
He got twenty years for lovin' her from some Oklahoma governor
Said "everything this Doughboy does is wrong"
Now some say he's doing the obituary mambo
Now some say that he's hanging on the wall
Perhaps this yarn's the only thing that holds this man together
Some say he was never here at all
And some say they saw him down in Birmingham
Sleeping in a boxcar going by
And if you think that you can tell a bigger tale
I swear to God you'd have to tell a lie